


Curtains

by Routcliffe



Series: Mulige Verdener [4]
Category: Ylvis
Genre: Angst, Fana Skoleteater, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Routcliffe/pseuds/Routcliffe
Summary: The boys and their beloveds say goodbye to an old friend.





	Curtains

Vegard cowered behind the curtain, picturing the darkened auditorium, the crowd of hundreds. He counted down to his cue, stomach in knots, sweaty hands clenched into fists. _Go._ He took a deep breath, and felt his fear melt away as he stepped out in front of an audience for the very first time.

Helene and Maria’s applause echoed through the vast empty auditorium, as did Calle and Bård's raucous boos. “Take off your top!” Calle shouted.

Vegard ran a hand through his curls in their summer cut, a sultry expression on his face, and made a show of untucking his t-shirt, eliciting whoops from his wife and sister-in-law, but he left it on. The caretaker was doing them a pretty big favour, letting them wander around like this to say their goodbyes, and it would be bad form to get even a little bit naked.

The floors should be polished to a shine now, in anticipation of a new crop of students. All around them should have been the muted sounds of teachers getting their classrooms ready. But Fana Gymnas didn’t have even the dormant, waiting air of a school in summertime. The rest of the building was utterly silent. Most of the equipment had been removed. The floors were swept, but his moving the curtains had sent up swirls of dust, and motes hovered in the shafts of late afternoon sunlight that slanted in from the high windows. The last class had let out at the end of June, and that was the end of it.

Helene boosted herself up so that she was sitting on the stage, and then drew her knees up. When Vegard understood what she was trying to do, he offered her a hand, but she was already on her feet again, and bounced up next to him. He grinned and took her hands. “ _Gaaaaaaaalllllllll_ ,” she sang, looking every bit as radiant as she had nearly two decades ago, and he sang with her, and even remembered the dance moves: he hadn’t been in that one, but they were simple enough. 

Maria applauded wildly from the floor. She hopped up on a bench and gave them a piercing whistle. Bård stood beside her with his arms folded across his chest, grinning. He had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head when they’d first come indoors, but he was wearing them again.

The caretaker, Gunn, had been very kind to let them visit this place. One of the advantages of fame, Vegard supposed, and that didn’t feel too good, but it would feel worse not to say one last goodbye. They’d spent an hour or so walking around, visiting old classrooms, swapping stories, remembering old teachers. They’d saved the auditorium for last, naturally.

Calle bounded onto the stage. Kaja was taking care of the baby back at Mr. and Mrs. Ylvisåker’s house, while the grandparents presided over a whirlwind of six children. Helga and Hans Terje would have been happy to look after one more, but Kaja had said that she had no history and no attachments here, that if she went she would just tag along behind them bewildered and feeling left out. It would have been nice to have someone to tell the stories to, but all in all she’d probably been right. Now Calle wandered around the stage, singing, “ _Så var det gjort...alt er fortalt..._ ” He fell silent abruptly.

Vegard motioned with his whole arm. “Come on up, Bård!”

Bård accepted a hand up, but he didn’t sing. He just stood, gazing out at a vast room that now held only Maria. “One hundred years,” he said softly. “It hardly seems fair, does it?”

“It’s not,” Vegard told him, grabbing Bård’s shoulder and rubbing it hard enough to rock him a bit. “Hey, it smells better than most hundred-year-olds we know.”

“It smells derelict,” Bård said softly. “It smells _dead_.”

“Bård?” Vegard gently lifted the sunglasses off Bård’s face. His brother’s eyes were red and swimming with tears.

“It’s just...it’s just...” Bård sighed, and laughed a little, and scrubbed at his eyes impatiently.

Calle had been wandering off into the wings, but now he veered back, as if pulled by a lodestone, and put his hands on Bård’s shoulders.

Vegard took hold of Bård’s forearm and squeezed. Tears sprang to his own eyes, and for the first time this afternoon he didn’t bother swallowing them back. 

“Oh Christ,” Calle muttered, his voice breaking. 

“Even the...” Bård took a deep breath, and tried again. “Even the sign is gone...”

“This was...where it all...” Vegard agreed, but he couldn’t trust his voice, and he turned his head to the side, embarrassed. Helene enfolded him in her arms, and kissed his hair.

Calle wrapped an arm around all three of them, and vigorously rubbed the brothers’ backs. There was another set of small feet on the stage, and then Maria had an arm around Bård and an arm around Helene. They stood in a small huddle on centre stage.

Vegard was the first to disengage, with a final firm pat to each person’s shoulder. He stepped back, took a couple of hitching breaths, and dried his eyes on the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” Bård said, laughing as he dabbed at his own eyes with a tissue from Maria’s purse. “I’ve been holding that in all afternoon.”

Helene held another tissue out to Vegard. He tried to wave it off, but she pushed it at him. “I got mascara on your forehead.” She studied Calle, and fished out another one for him. He thanked her, and blew his nose noisily, making Vegard grimace. 

Bård took a breath, and let it out. “Have we...can we...?”

“I don’t want it to be over,” Calle said, “but...”

“It’s time,” Helene agreed gently. And then all five of them looked at each other, and put their arms around each other’s shoulders. Facing into the dusty silence, brilliant showbiz smiles on their faces and soggy tissues balled up in their fists, they took one last bow on the Fana Skoleteater stage, and filed off, down the stairs. 

“I think we need a cold drink,” Maria said, as their footsteps echoed on the auditorium floor.

“And pastry,” Vegard said, bringing up the rear. “There’s that little place across the street that’s still open.”

They hesitated at the auditorium door, all taking a long look around before Maria pushed the bar. The door swung open on a beautiful summer day. The fresh air was a balm, and the sunlight lifted Vegard’s spirits. 

Aware that there was nothing left to hear him, he whispered a final, echoing thanks back into the dimness, and pulled the door closed.

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling low about, among other things, the impending closure and demolition of my old elementary school, so I asked for a prompt, and the lovely and wonderful hoosonja suggested that I write about the brothers saving Fana Gymnas, which was founded in 1916 and closed at the end of this school year. The story, uh, didn't quite turn out that way, but I am indebted to her both for the prompt and for the footage that she has on her blog.


End file.
